


What a snake

by madscientist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Comedy, F/M, Parody, Smut, subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madscientist/pseuds/madscientist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've read enough Tomione to spot the tropes and I hope you enjoy this one-shot jab at the genre.</p><p>There are no snakes in this fanfic. It’s what Hermione must think of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a snake

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's bursting with erotic symbolism, that's part of the joke. The longer you look, the filthier it gets i.e. I am not above one-eye humour.  
> I don't want to spoil the end but read until it. There will not be sequels but you are welcome to write them.  
> 18-year old Tom Riddle to match Hermione, Christian Coulson faceclaim aka the superior faceclaim.

He'd noticed her, of course. How could he not? She stuck out like a Veela at a troll convention. Except she wasn't blonde. Tom had never seen one but apparently they were always blonde. This young woman was the object of attention for a few reasons.

The only woman Dumbledore had frowned at, when he'd seen her trip on her own trousers upon leaving his office. She cast a glance back at him in apology and Professor Dumbledore rolled his eyes. Any creature elegant enough to produce this pleasant effect in his favourite Professor was a charm to be investigated. _What kind of woman wears trousers_ , Tom pondered. The same to wear sports shoes to a school. It was almost _rebellious._ Nevertheless, she managed to look passably attractive in trousers that hugged her figure, instead of producing the desired homely effect.

He decided to follow her and her impossibly shiny hair, as she hadn't noticed him yet. He pursued with cat-like footfalls down the long chasm of hard stairs at a respectable distance. Surprisingly, she seemed to know where she was going. Had she been here before? During summer? _Impossible._ Tom would have sensed her signature. It was a buttery caramel consistency, thick with promise. She tensed as his magic brushed hers and hurried along, deeper into the castle. What was it, the dungeons? No, she feigned away. Her long hair curled around the corner so fast it almost whipped him in the face. Tom stalled to a sudden halt. Saucy minx.

Once he'd paused and emerged from behind the corner, his interest was assured. She knew how to pass the pear portrait into the kitchens. Riddle stared after her, deadpan and furious. What else had that ancient oaf told her?  _Fine._

He was going to  _handle_ her and teach Dumbledore how to keep his wizened mouth shut.

He dipped into the previously empty kitchens after her, passed the iced buns and their tacky glacé cherries and plucked himself a firm green apple. He menaced behind her, a looming presence, as she was greedily scoffing a large slice of French toast.

"You know, an apple is much healthier", Tom drawled lazily in his richest, warmest voice.

It had the intended effect. The new girl, his new toy, almost choked.

As quickly she recovered and continued to ignore him. She finished her food politely, gulping a spritz of opaque lemonade and sucked her fingertips with a casual, innocent air.

Tom did not like being ignored but he'd played voyeur enough times to be a good sport. _She doesn't know what's good for her.._ He danced around her, gauging his distance and bowed. "Master Tom Riddle, at your service." As he looked up and gave her his most charming smile, her chocolate brown doe eyes met his with an unusual hardness.

 _Ah. She has been warned._ Tom liked a challenge. "Where are your supplies? Have you been sorted?"

She shook her head. Healthy suspicion. He looked her over, drinking in the slight, nubile curves teased beneath a deceptive plain facade.

"Slytherin is the best."  _Come and play._

She had the temerity to scoff. Her eyes shone with amusement. She thought she was too good for it. Such a Slytherin repose.

"Don't tell me you want to be overseen by Dumbledore?"

"What do you want?" her voice was high but clipped, professional, quite a contrast from the sweet appearance. She was wearing ugly Muggle clothes on a sulking, heaving bosom and a weary expression. Otherwise the countenance was amiable.

"I just want to help you." _Charm offensive. Friendly motion of the hands._ Tom had a tell, he always moved his hands when he lied.

The girl raised an arch eyebrow.

"What is your name?"

"Hermione. What is yours?"

Tom was unsettled at this inquiry. She couldn't _possibly_ know. Telepath? Empath? Seer? _No._ No, he would have sensed it. He decided to play dumb. "This year I have the honour of being called Head Boy." He puffed up his broad chest with its silvery badge and stared down his aristocratic nose at her, expectantly.

"Big head?" she smiled sarcastically.

Tom frowned. Sociability did nothing to affect this woman. Perhaps a slinkier tact...

"Oh, the biggest", Tom gave her a cheeky eyebrow flash.

It was this Hermione's turn to be disturbed. Her slender throat tensed.

 _Bingo._ Tom lowered the apple into his pocket and looked around the kitchen. She was out of place here too. Time to make her feel like it.

"Where are you going, Hermione?"

He was eager to report she shuddered upon hearing him pronounce her name.

"Are you, in fact, a house elf? I don't believe you live in the kitchens." His breezy airs taking over. He owned this school.

She bristled at that. "You should treat them with more respect, Riddle." Her tiny nose in the air.

"Should I?" A wide grin crossed Tom's face, stretched manic and taut like old elastic.

She snubbed him and turned away. She'd reached a quiet corridor apace before he gained on her. His legs were longer.

He grabbed her wrist, hard. A most enticing creature, she drew her wand at the same time as Tom drew his, each pointing at the temple of the other. Tom inhaled slowly.

"What a strange creature you are..." his eyes alight with curiosity.

Her animated eyebrows couldn't contain themselves. The eyes beneath were swarthy, even cunning. She knew him and his game. What a precious first, a wave of relief and a hiss of danger crossed the air.

She licked her lips in fear, breath hastened just a tad. An opening.

In the half-dark of the dungeon level, he slowly teased his wand's pale tip to her hairline and smoothly down the temple to cup the cheekbone. He almost stroked her cheek with it and she winced in confusion, unsure how to proceed. Exactly where he wanted her.

_Sensuality. He smiled inwardly. Here's her weakness._

He dragged it slowly inward to trace her lips, a small, pink rosebud. A _perfect_ Cupid's bow. Gently, he pressed it to her lips from the bow, tugging lightly down for access. She had sealed them shut, a stony stubborn expression as her own wand hovered in warning at his head. It was a hollow threat. He lazily drank in the sight of her mouth in the dark as it finally relaxed somewhat, since, in the lingering aftermath, he did nothing to harm her.

" _Shhhh_ ," he cooed. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. Seizing upon the opportunity, he pulled her lower lip down with the wand and slightly, insistently pushed the tip into her mouth. _Ahhh, there._ The triumph washed over him.

She was silent, expression shocked. A deer in the headlights. His darker mahogany eyes met hers and he parted his own lips a little in sympathy with a gleam of anticipation crossing his features.

Her Venusian lips puckered and relaxed around his wand. A thrill of power and a surge of lust buzzed through his body, bonded together like black electricity. With excruciating slowness he smoothly thrust it deeper - and shallower, deeper, and shallower, like a dance or a musical instrument, playing with her secretive mouth like a cave of wonders.

She almost fell backward, her wand dropping with her guard, but she didn't remove her mouth, he noted with Machiavellian pleasure. She tilted her head back but up.

No, she did something that alarmed Tom.

Then she sucked the tip like a lollipop while making heavier, seductive eyes at him. The hollows of her cheekbones were alluring and rhythmic, deepened with every suck. Perhaps, Tom pondered, he might have been too hasty in swearing off the fairer sex? He licked his own lips, he couldn't help it. Her lidded expression was enigmatic. Was she part-Veela?

He leaned in, wanting to inhale the scent of her body from her pale neck and purred. " **Would you like to borrow my _other_ wand, Hermione?** " 

Her eyes narrowed and her bone white wand hand twitched. In these shadows her eyes appeared almost black, Tom noticed and pressed on.

" **You could take mine though, in that hand**. It wants to see you", he added dangerously, with mock innocence.

Her eyes widened and snapped onto him. It made his Adam's apple quiver.

" _Borrow it?_ " He posed as if offering a pencil.

Tom grinned and withdrew his wand to rest on her lower lip, bouncing playfully to watch the damask flush of blood spread beneath. The smooth wood of his stiff wand was shiny with spit and he _liked_ it.

" _Hmmm_ ", she cooed. The same tone as his hush. Her eyes seemed rounder, somehow. Dark chocolate, those eyes. 

She looked him up and down, warm eyes lingering on his inky black trousers, which Tom could swear felt hot and tight in the cold dark. She reached into his pocket and took his apple.

"Maybe," she drawled playfully, bold eyes rising to match his, "and I could watch you **go _fuck yourself_.** " She crisply enunciated.

Tom flinched. He hadn't flinched in years.

Hermione licked her lips in pride, smirked like a serpent, span sharply on her heels and sauntered off into the night, hips rocking. He never saw her again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> That's it, welcome to Hell. She immediately went back/forward in time because fuq this shit, naw, she did NOT sign up for this after one war with the guy.  
> A lot of this story picks up on things seen in the films too.  
> e.g. Voldemort does move his hands when he lies.  
> aka He moves his hands a lot.  
> The obsession with wands is quite a canon-invested metaphor.  
> I wanted to tease the common trope dumb-for-plot Hermione with about fifty IQ points lopped off against one of equitable intelligence to Riddle as the school knew him, easily the brightest wizard of his age. In a seduction, the party with the power has the passive right of refusal, actually. This is the reason Dark Triad men hate so-called teases, as if we should be grateful they offered to ruin us. Hermione would not put up with his bullshit, she's read too many books on hybristophilia, at eighteen years young she is too old and too fine for his crazy-basilisk killer ass. She bounced before the Stockholm kicked in, clever girl.  
> Sensuality was Tom's weakness too.  
> I hope the GIF choices didn't ruin the experience.


End file.
